For now...

First, let me say to Blockbuster: who sends discs 5 & 6 before sending disc 4 of season 1 of Veronica Mars? I mean, honestly. What kind of vicious monsters are you? I’m working with a deadline here.

That being said...

Hi!

I have missed blogging. Obviously, it hasn’t been that long since I’ve posted, but I guess it’s more the writing that I miss. What I’ve been doing here lately has felt more like reporting, reviewing, reprinting, regurgitating. Some very done again stuff, if prefixes have any meaning to you. Boooring… mainly because it has very little to do with me. And isn’t that what a blog is supposed to be in this wikiality that we live in? Sure, my topic choices for postings might give you some read into who I am, but that requires a whole heck of a lot of thinking on your part and I’m very well aware of the fact that I often get lost in translation; psychology, and not just mine, can be a tricky thing.

Bringing you more up to date on the fascinating subject of me... I turned 25 a couple weeks ago. There’s a nifty little beginnings of a blog sitting around here somewhere entitled "A Quarter and Some Sense." It was intended for posting on my actual birthday, but alas the day came and went. It’s a shame really; it was a brilliant pearl of writing, which I feel free to report to you, knowing that you will never see it for yourself.

I do feel a bit older, which has never happened particularly around my birthday before. A very prominent doctor told me recently that your kidneys start to deteriorate once you turn 25. (Is that only if you’re a woman? She told me, but I can’t remember. You know what they say about one’s memory.) But it’s not my kidneys that bear the weight of increasing age upon me.

When I was 17, like many 17-year olds, I had certain expectations of 25-year old me. (Is that only if you’re a woman? Someone told me, but I can’t remember.) I’d be your most predictable sort of character: just married, newly successful… but no to that white picket fence, thank you, because I might have been 17, but I was still me. I didn’t know what I’d be doing exactly, though I did think I knew with whom I’d be. In any case, I thought I’d be more than I am now. More successful. More stable. More settled. More set.

As my 25th year approached, I feared that I had let down 17-year old me. But then I remembered a very important fact: 17-year old me was very very dumb (I mean, look at who I thought I would marry!).

Despite deteriorating kidneys, do you know how long people are living nowadays? I’m no doctor, but I’m thinking it’s something like thousands of years (or does it only feel that way sometimes?). Why would I want to be all set when I’ve got 975 more years ahead of me, minimum? Talk about boring.

So, I’m nonsensically pleased with my unpainted walls, unfurnished apartment, and all together un-set life.

For now.

ps

You know what else I thought on my birthday? The birthday celebrant should send out the birthday cards. You know how some people send out little newsletters around the holiday season, telling the recipients about their happenings that year? Why not do it on your birthday? It would be like recapping the year or recognizing the things you accomplished:

To celebrate my turning 5 today, I'd like to take it back and remember all the happy memories that year 4 brought me. This year, I learned to tie a bow and enjoyed the writings of Dr. Seuss with his critically-acclaimed Ten Apples Up On Top. It was truly a banner year.

You can all expect to receive a copy of the SR annual newsletter next year, which will include a brief synopsis of years 1 through 24, but will primarily focus on this year 25. =o)